


default settings

by bendingsignpost



Series: men with weasels [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Background Case, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Body Modification, Body Worship, Communication, Established Relationship, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 01:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: Connor just wants to fix everything by finally installing new parts. Hank thinks he's fine just the way he is.





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“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” Hank snaps, laying on the gas a little too hard.

 

“Your eyes are on the road. You don’t know how I’m looking at you.”

 

“I just know, all right?”

 

Connor sighs.

 

Hank grits his teeth and blasts his music all the way to their next lead. The moment they’re out of the car, Connor drops back into his machine persona, a flawless facade of professionalism as he accesses files and Hank questions their potential witnesses. They work together effortlessly, right up until they’re back in the car.

 

Arms folded, Connor slouches in the seat.

 

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?” Hank demands.

 

“I wanted to buy my penis this weekend,” Connor complains.

 

“Yeah, well, welcome to working homicide. Murderers don’t give a shit about your weekend plans.”

 

This time, Connor turns up the music.

 

Hank focuses on driving.

 

Ten blocks away from their last witness’ store address, Connor blurts out, “Pull over, park here.”

 

With some cursing, Hank manages it. He even fucking signals, because sometimes he likes to pretend to be a decent human being. “What? Did you see the guy?”

 

“No,” Connor says, eyes focused somewhere Hank can’t see. “But it’s nearly eight hours since you last ate, and there are five restaurants within a one-minute walking radius of this parking space that fit your bad mood criteria for dining.”

 

“Look, I just wanna wrap this up, okay?”

 

“Unless the unsub is staying with our final witness—highly unlikely given the impersonal repair relationship—we’re going back to the precinct after, and the route back only has options that will worsen your mood or prove insufficient nutrition. You should eat now.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Hank kills the engine and climbs out of the car. He slams his door shut, stalks onto the sidewalk, and gets all of five steps away before realizing something’s wrong. He stomps right on back and raps his knuckles on the window of his own damn car.

 

Connor raises his eyebrows.

 

Hank looks at him expectantly.

 

Still belted in, Connor opens the door. “I’m going to review the evidence.”

 

“Yeah, and you’re gonna do it sitting across from me, c’mon.”

 

There’s a split second of yellow before Connor unbuckles. “I thought you’d want to be alone.”

 

Hank takes a step back for Connor to climb out. “We were gonna spend the goddamn weekend together, so we’re spending the goddamn weekend together.” He locks the door after Connor closes it.

 

“You don’t have to humor me.” Connor starts walking, and Hank falls in step with him, not bothering to question where the guy’s leading him.

 

“Yeah, well. You’re not the only one who’s disappointed.”

 

Connor keeps looking straight ahead. “You didn’t want to come with me.”

 

“Maybe I think that’s something you should do on your own.”

 

“I don’t want to get one you’ll dislike. That would defeat the purpose.”

 

“Connor, that’s not- Oh hey, burritos.” That’s abruptly exactly the spot that needs hitting. “Conversation’s on hold until I get food.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Inside, Hank stands in a short line. Every time he glances over his shoulder, Connor’s sitting at a table for two, spinning yellow while flipping his coin. Normal processing shit. It’s his usual evidence reviewing face. Hank rejoins him with an overstuffed burrito, free tortilla chips, and a sad compromise of salsa: too mild for heartburn, too mild for enjoyment.

 

“All right, unpause,” Hank says.

 

“I think the best chance at catching our man is staking out the homes of the unsub’s former owners. If we conduct a stakeout with officers substituting for those humans, he might not immediately realize his intended victims have been moved to safehouses.”

 

“Not what I was talking about, but sure.” Hank cracks a chip in half and stirs it around in his plastic cup of watery vegetable juice. Mild as fuck. “Haven’t been able to get androids to spill his details so far.”

 

“It’s… not an uncommon view,” Connor admits. “The only crimes against androids that are legally considered crimes are those committed _after_ November eleventh, 2038. Every assault, every instance of harassment, every incident of ‘droidslaughter or even androcide committed prior is unprosecutable. It’s the least popular concession Markus made.”

 

“Yeah, I get that, but adding more fucked up shit doesn’t make things _less_ fucked up.”

 

Connor looks through him.

 

“What?”

 

“Lieutenant, you do realize I was assaulted twice my first day with the DPD.”

 

Hank puts his burrito down. “What now?”

 

Connor looks at him. “I was assaulted twice on my first day with the DPD, by officers of the DPD. The officers involved faced no disciplinary measures, or even basic censure.”

 

That sensation in his chest is definitely the heartburn, mild salsa or not. “Who?”

 

Connor’s gaze drops to the table, then shifts to the window, his eyes tracking the passing cars. “The other officer was Gavin Reed.”

 

“The other-”

 

 _Shit_.

 

Yeah, heartburn. Definitely.

 

He’s got a vague memory of slamming Connor against a wall, but for Connor, that’s gotta be crystal clear.

 

All of these assaults must still be crystal clear, for all these androids.

 

Hank rubs at his face. “Look, kid-”

 

“Stop calling me that.”

 

“Connor,” Hank says instead. “For what it’s worth, I’m an asshole.”

 

Connor keeps looking out the window. Hank checks the glass for the reflection of his LED, and at least it’s still blue.

 

“And I’m sorry,” Hank adds.

 

Connor shrugs a little, but he stops looking away. “The point is, even if his method of justice is murder, there are still people who believe he deserves some form of justice. Seeing that he lacks any other method, these people might be able to justify his actions despite finding them unconscionable in other circumstances.”

 

“Great.”

 

“The good news is, by analyzing the damage reports and repair costs from each retailer that restored and resold him, I’ve been able to rank the families in order of most to least likely to be attacked. I reported back my results while you were in line.”

 

“Still got one more store on the list,” Hank points out needlessly. The day he has to remind Connor of something is the day the world officially stops making sense.

 

“Unless we discover something drastic, I don’t think the list is likely to change order.”

 

“Guess that’s good.”

 

Hank eats his late lunch. Basically an early dinner, at this point. Connor keeps processing.

 

Hank kicks him under the table. “You get breaks now, too.”

 

“I know. I just want to finish this case.”

 

“And then go shopping?”

 

Connor shakes his head, visibly holding back a sigh. “I can wait until next weekend. I still want you come with me, though.”

 

Hank glances around, but it’s not like their conversation is explicit. If they can talk shop, they can talk around Connor’s dick situation.

 

“Look, Connor, I get that you want my opinion and all…”

 

“We should discuss this in the car,” Connor says quickly.

 

“You don’t need my input, that’s all I’m saying.”

 

“I want it, and we should discuss this in the car, _Lieutenant._ ”

 

Hank can take a hint. Not well, but he can take one. He shrugs and stuffs his face with burrito. On the way back to the car, Connor does this chin scratch motion, and Hank picks a tiny shred of lettuce out of his beard.

 

They sit down, buckle up, and look over at each other.

 

“I’m saying you should get whatever dick you want, and I’ll be fine with whatever you get.”

 

Connor shakes his head. “This is too expensive an investment to risk. Depending on the model I select, there might be an installation procedure, too.”

 

Jesus. It’s something Hank should have considered, but it’s not like they can just slap the thing on with duct tape. His eyes drop to Connor’s crotch, but he drags them back up. He clears his throat. “The wife and I had this deal, right? Tattoos, piercings, haircuts, medical shit, anything. The only say we got was over our own bodies. Kept shit sane.”

 

“But I’m asking for your input,” Connor says. “I want to know what you’d like.”

 

“A _dick_ , Connor, just get a dick!”

 

“But there are so many kinds!”

 

Hank rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. How many kinds of dick can there possibly be?”

 

Connor looks at him the way a living supercomputer really ought to look at a human all the time. “Wireless strap-on, convertible, detachable, permanent insert. Synthetic design, organic design, skin-compatible, sensitive toy. Show versus grow. Pulse, vibration, expand, knot, vanilla. And that’s without considering length and width.”

 

“...What the fuck,” Hank says.

 

“There are so many!” Connor says, eyes wide. “I need you to help narrow it down. I’ve already excluded all the ones with extensions and attachments for clitoral stimulation, but that removed a smaller percentage than you’d think. I don’t know what else to rule out.”

 

“Yeah, I’m getting that now.”

 

“This is why I asked whether you were interested in me ejaculating,” Connor adds. “That’s also optional, but the material of the ejaculate varies from model to model. Some have dry orgasm options, which I think you might prefer for oral, but I don’t know _because you won’t tell me._ ”

 

“I’m good without jizz in my mouth, thanks,” Hank says.

 

“Good. That’s a start. What if I had the ability to ejaculate lube during anal penetration?”

 

Eyebrows high, Hank stares at him.

 

“What?” Connor asks.

 

“Y’know, that’s actually weirdly practical.”

 

“That function would rule out a purely wireless strap-on. The phallus would need to be attached to my body via an insert containing the lubricant.”

 

Hank stares at him a bit longer before sighing. “I’m gonna spend the rest of the week reading about android dicks, aren’t I?”

 

Connor blinks. Slowly, he breaks into a grin. “Thank you, Hank.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” With a rumbling engine, the blinker, and his middle finger, Hank pulls out of the parking space and into the mess of traffic. “One more repair place, and then stake-out mode.”

 

“Sounds good,” Connor confirms.

  
  


At some point after three in the morning, Hank’s dying from lack of caffeine. Probably a bit of alcohol withdrawal there too, but the caffeine’s the more pressing issue the longer they sit here. Silent. Waiting.

 

Connor keeps fidgeting, touching his temple.

 

“Stop scratching it,” Hank hisses. “You’ll know it’s peeled off when you light up the entire damn car.”

 

“I don’t enjoy the sensation of duct tape on my face.”

 

“Yeah, well, it was all I had.”

 

They keep waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

“I can wake you if anything happens,” Connor whispers.

 

“Not a chance.” Better tired and awake than asleep and groggy.

 

They keep waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

It’s not the weekend anymore, Hank realizes. What a fucking waste. He fights down a yawn. He gives up on the second.

 

On the third, he catches Connor staring.

 

“Shut up, I’m tired,” Hank grumbles.

 

Connor shakes his head, his expression strange in this newfound darkness. “I want to put my fingers in your mouth.”

 

Hank wakes up with a bit of a jolt. Just a little one. Probably what that asshole meant to do… except when Hank glares, Connor’s only looking at him, sincere in that stupidly young way he still gets.

 

“C’mere,” Hank whispers, lifting his arm.

 

Connor tucks himself beneath it. He holds Hank’s right forearm with his right hand, and his left goes on Hank’s thigh. He keeps looking out the windshield.

 

And so they keep waiting.

  
  


Hank gets a break for sleep on Monday, but then he’s back up and going that afternoon. Connor probably doesn’t take a break the entire time Hank’s out, and it’s not until they walk into the precinct and Chris points, confused, that Hank even notices Connor still has the duct tape on. Connor keeps reviewing the evidence and Hank keeps pulling on leads.

  
  


Another night, another stake-out.

 

At some point after midnight, Connor pulls a grocery bag out from under his seat and hands Hank a protein bar and a bottle of ice coffee. He gives Hank something for his headache too, and then he rubs at the back of Hank’s neck.

 

As involuntary as an erection, Hank drops his head back. “Fuck, that’s good.”

 

In a cheerful, practical tone, Connor announces to the windshield, “Once we’re off-duty, I want to touch you everywhere.”

 

Hank groans for a different reason. “Some of us are old, kid. I’m gonna faceplant onto my bed. If you wanna roll me over and have a go, be my guest, but it ain’t gonna happen.”

 

Connor keeps up the neck rub. “It doesn’t have to be sexual. I’ve downloaded several massage and physical therapy programs. Don’t worry,” he adds as Hank tenses back up. “There’s no personality component.”

 

“You don’t have to do that shit,” Hank makes himself say anyway. “You need to get your cuddle on, go for it.”

 

“Okay,” Connor says, and physically takes hold of Hank’s arm. He gets himself under it and takes the half-eaten protein bar out of Hank’s hand. Without looking, he reaches up and sticks the thing in Hank’s mouth.

 

Rolling his eyes, Hank holds the coffee between his legs and finishes the bar. Then it’s back to coffee time.

 

“What if I want to touch you like that?” Connor asks. “Also go for it?”

 

“The massage stuff?”

 

Connor nods, hair brushing against Hank’s jacket sleeve. “I like the way your body changes. You’re different, relaxed.”

 

“You’re one to talk.”

 

Connor shifts his head, actually taking his eyes off the street. “Am I?”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

“Huh,” Connor says, blinking like he hadn’t realized. “But that’s a good thing?”

 

That’s a hell of a thing to doubt.

 

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Yeah, that’s a good thing.”

 

Connor twitches a smile, like he’s not sure he should.

 

Hank pecks a quick kiss on the side of his face, sure to scrape his beard against synthetic skin when he pulls back.

 

Beaming, head slightly ducked, Connor looks back out the windshield.

 

Christ, but he’s adorable.

 

Hank finishes his coffee. Caps the bottle and chucks the trash in the back. “Thanks.”

 

Connor nods. “I’m glad I can do that much. If I could just find out where he’s hiding, we could go home.”

 

“Eh.”

 

They keep waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

“Hey, so,” Hank starts to say. Even with the caffeine, he’s that kind of tired, where he starts to say shit.

 

“Mm?”

 

Hank decides whether to keep his mouth shut.

 

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

 

Hank sighs. “Do you actually want a dick?”

 

Connor blinks a little, or maybe that’s what fluttering your eyelashes actually looks like. Probably not, though. “I would prefer not to have a vagina, so the phallic option is-”

 

“No, I mean.” Hank tries to piece together what he means. It’s weirdly easier, not looking at each other. It’s so much harder, not having the hint of Connor’s LED lighting up the place. “You don’t actually get horny or anything, right?”

 

“There are sensation interfaces I can download once I install the hardware.”

 

“But you don’t get horny now.”

 

Connor takes his time answering. “I… want. I know it involves you, and touching you. Part of it involves making you happy, but part of it also involves exasperating you.”

 

Hank snorts. “Would never have guessed that bit.”

 

“I’m sure you would have eventually,” Connor says, oblivious to Hank’s sarcasm… At least, right up until Connor glances back at him with a shadowy hint of a grin.

 

“So that whole weasels scratching up your guts feeling…”

 

“It’s calmer. Mostly.”

 

“Okay.” Hank squeezes him around the shoulders.

 

“It was worse when you didn’t want to help pick out my phallus.”

 

And there goes the moment. Hank clears his throat. “But that’s it. Do you want one? Or is it just to make me happy and exasperated?”

 

“I want one,” Connor says, reassuringly certain. “It will be a new kind of experience, and I want as many with you as feasibly possible.” He looks up at Hank. “Does that make sense? I keep trying to, to put words around it, but the feeling escapes. It keeps activating my memories of washing Sumo.”

 

“Huge, slippery, and impossible to get back into the tub?” Hank suggests. “Kinda pissing you off?”

 

“But warm. Happy. More playful, but also…” Connor looks back out at the road. “Also leading to a greater mess.”

 

“Huh,” Hank says. It’s all he can think to say. He fumbles around for something else. “You know I’d be fine with you, right? Staying like this.”

 

“My inability to achieve climax frustrates you,” Connor states.

 

“As long as you tell me you had a good time, I’ll be fine.” If he says it firmly enough, if he means it hard enough, he can make it true. He’s had enough partners, flings and long term, good and bad, to know how to handle someone who can’t come. It’s almost a relief, framing it that way, knowing that at least this time, they wouldn’t be needlessly striving. Connor could just… keep not orgasming.

 

Which does sound pretty shitty to Hank, but what does he know?

 

“Do you wanna try, uh, climax?” Hank asks.

 

“I’d like to gather that data with you,” Connor says, and the fucker winks. From this angle, it might be a blink, but Hank knows him too well. It was a fucking wink.

 

“And if you don’t like it?”

 

“Then I’ll turn the program off,” Connor answers simply, lifting Hank’s arm with a small shrug. “I will need genitalia first, to focus the program on as a point of primary stimulus and relief, but I don’t need to have both.”

 

“So, what, you’d be willing to fuck me but never come?”

 

“If I don’t like coming, yes.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Why not?” Connor asks. “I enjoy stimulating you, Hank.”

 

Hank’s entire face goes up in flame. His skin is paper, his hair is straw, and Connor’s going around spitting out lit matches without even noticing.

 

“I could stimulate you with my fingers next time,” Connor adds. “In your anus, not on your penis. We’ll need a water-based lube. I contain too much silicone for oil- or silicone-based. That does rule out anal play in the shower, but the danger of you slipping is too high anyway.”

 

Hank clears his throat. “For a guy who doesn’t get horny, you’ve got one hell of a sex drive on you.”

 

“I was designed to be curious.”

 

“Definitely curious, all right.’

 

Connor elbows him in the side, only to cuddle in closer, still on full alert. It’s like lounging with a German Shepherd around mail time.

 

They keep waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

Hank’s phone buzzes and Hank nearly has a heart attack. He yanks it out of his jacket. “Anderson.”

 

It’s Jeffrey.

 

Listening, Hank rubs at his eyes. What he actually says in response, he’s not sure. He’s just fucking _tired_ now. He repeats the bit about getting the rest of the day off—Tuesday, it’s Tuesday now—and hangs up.

 

“You catch all that?” Hank asks.

 

Eyes closed, Connor nods. “I’m submitting our side of the report now.”

 

“This is fucked up,” Hank says.

 

“While the unsub found and attacked one of the safe houses, there were no casualties. Now that he’s detained, all the potential victims can safely return home.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

 

Connor opens his eyes.

 

Hank reaches out and tears the duct tape off the guy’s temple.

 

Connor doesn’t blink, doesn’t wince, but his LED still circles yellow. Could just be him filing the report, though.

 

“I don’t agree with vigilante bullshit, but you can’t tell me it sits well, protecting abusive assholes and sticking their former property behind bars.”

 

Connor closes his eyes. His LED blinks twice, and his eyes flick back and forth beneath his closed lids. He nods slightly, goes back to blue, and looks at Hank again, the report filed in less time than it would take Hank to pull up the right form on his computer. “I should drive. You can sleep on the way.”

 

“Nah, I can make it.”

 

He doesn’t move, though, not until the team inside the house gets the go-ahead to leave. Then Hank pulls his arm back and climbs out of the car into a freezing blast of night air. He walks around to the passenger side, gives a cursory wave to his fellow officers, and gets in to ride shotgun.

 

He doesn’t mean to sleep. One minute, he’s sitting down. The next, he’s rolling over, arm patting the cool spot on the bed.

 

A soft noise comes from down by his feet. Sumo, lifting his head. He doggy-crawls up, nosing at Hank’s arm until he can steal Connor’s spot.

 

...Right.

 

Connor.

 

Keeping his eyes shut against the glow fighting through the closed curtains, Hank staggers to his feet and out of his bedroom.

 

“Connor?” he croaks, mouth dry. He scratches his bare belly, and for some reason, he looks into the kitchen before he thinks to check the far corner of the living room. “What you doing on the computer? S’ too early for dicks.”

 

“Just wrapping up some work, Hank.”

 

“Well, stop it. We got the day off.” He pulls at the waistband of his boxers, which have twisted off-center at some point during his sleep. “You sent our report in, right?”

 

Connor nods, still doing whatever he’s doing at the computer.

 

Shrugging, Hank shuffles off for a shower. He gets all the way through a breakfast disguised as a late lunch, and Connor’s still at it. Hank does the dishes, makes some more coffee, and is sipping a fresh cup as he looks over Connor’s shoulder.

 

“Cold cases, huh?”

 

“Mm.”

 

Hank watches windows pop up and close faster than he can follow. All homicides from within the past decade, but besides that, it’s anyone’s guess what Connor’s after.

 

Reflected in the computer screen, Connor’s eyes meet his.

 

Connor twists around, frowning up at him. “You got dressed.”

 

“Yeah, I do that.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“What, you were hoping to see all this walking around naked?”

 

Connor doesn’t even bother responding, looking up at him in obvious agreement.

 

Once again, Hank’s head goes up in flames. Or maybe that’s just the steam rising from his mug.

 

“You, uh, gonna be doing that all day?” he asks, gesturing with his coffee.

 

“I can take a break. Do you want to come with me and take Sumo to the P-A-R-K?”

 

With an abrupt clicking of nails against the kitchen tile, Sumo abandons his food for a quick trot to the door. He turns around in two little circles before sitting, tail slapping the floor.

 

“Hank, your dog can spell,” Connor reports.

 

“Yep. Smarter than you’d think.” He squeezes Connor on the shoulder. “C’mon, get your coat.”

 

“I don’t need-”

 

“You look good it in it!” Hank interrupts, walking away, not looking back.

 

“Oh,” Connor says. And then, “Oh!”

  
  


Connor doesn’t just wear the coat. He’s also the only asshole at the dog park wearing a goddamn tie.

 

Hank’s gonna fuck the shit out of him.

 

Smirking even as he tosses a saliva coated ball for Sumo to chase, Connor clearly knows it.

  
  


On the walk back, they stop at a corner store. “You know what you need, just go,” Hank tells Connor, waving him in. He stands outside with Sumo, pretending he’s not staring through the window, watching Connor buy lube. No, he’s keeping Sumo in line, stopping the giant from slobbering over passerby. It’s important work.

 

Connor comes out of the store with a small bag and a huge grin. They fall in step with each other, Sumo between them like the glutton for attention he is. Sumo keeps trying to sniff at the bag, and Hank is going to do something drastic if the dog eats it.

 

“I can turn my overall sensitivity up,” Connor says out of nowhere. “Especially on my fingertips and face.”

 

Hank probably goes splotchy and red at that, but he’ll blame the nip in the air. “I get the hands part, for investigation shit, but why the face?”

 

“Detecting air flow,” Connor explains. “My face is an exposed area. My face and hair, actually. I can turn up the sensitivity of my scalp enough to feel the movements of individual hairs. It’s surprisingly helpful for navigating in case something happens to my eyes.”

 

“Huh.” He swallows. “Does more sensitive mean… good? Or painful.”

 

He can ask that in public. They’re talking about Connor’s investigative functions, after all. Hell, that’s technically work-related.

 

“I can choose how to define sensory input,” Connor says. “Some sensations are more difficult to redefine, so they take up too much processing to be strictly ‘good,’ but I might be able to get better at it with practice. The overload does mean I have to shut down other processors to compensate. That might be useful.”

 

“Huh,” Hank says again.

 

“I can also make my mouth very sensitive,” Connor adds.

 

Hank trips. Catches himself mid-stumble.

 

Sumo looks up at him with perked ears, then goes back to sniffing at Connor’s bag.

 

“For analytical purposes, of course,” Connor says.

 

Hank flips him off.

 

“As much as I enjoy detecting chemical compositions, I’m well-versed in object recognition by physical sensation.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, stow it until you can show off at home,” Hank mutters.

 

Connor actually shuts up, and it’s almost a full block before Hank realizes that’s strange.

 

“What?” Hank asks, looking over at the silent android as they navigate around a postbox.

 

“Home?” Connor says.

 

“What about it?”

 

Connor looks at him with a faint frown before shaking his head. His lips pull to the side. “I’ll have a lot to show off, that’s all.”

 

Hank rolls his eyes as dramatically as he knows how, and Connor just smiles.

  
  


“Do you want to shower first?” Connor asks, shrugging out of his coat. He watches intently as Hank does the same. For a guy without a sex drive, he sure stares a lot.

 

“You saying I smell?”

 

“Only your usual scent.” From someone else, it’d be an insult, but Connor fucking crowds up into his space and _sniffs_ him. “Actually, it’s changing. I can tell you’ve been cutting back on alcohol.”

 

“Seriously? By sniffing me?”

 

Connor nods. “I’m glad the therapy is helping.” He pulls off his shoes, picks back up the bag, and leads the way to the bedroom. Hank follows a little more slowly, making sure he’s locked the door, checking on the water levels in Sumo’s bowl, that kind of thing.

 

“I just meant, if I’m going to rim or finger you, you might want to shower first,” Connor calls back, waiting in the bedroom doorway.

 

Hank quirks a grin. “Now who said we were doing that?”

 

Connor frowns. “Did we get lube in preparation for Saturday?”

 

“Nope, gonna need it today.” Hank stoops down slightly for a kiss, and Connor fucking delivers. Tosses the bag onto their bed, wraps his arms around Hank’s neck, and kisses him back like he’s been starved for it. Connor presses himself up against every bit of Hank available and swallows Hank’s grunt of surprise.

 

Melting into it, humming into it, Hank pushes against him to get Connor up against the wall. Connor’s finally getting the hang of this whole relaxing thing. He sinks against Hank, pliant and fluid, and he sucks hard on Hank’s tongue when Hank rocks his increasingly pleased dick against Connor’s crotch.

 

Hank breaks the kiss to press his forehead against Connor’s, his hair a gray curtain around their faces. “Gonna give you what you need,” Hank tells him.

 

The blown eyes and flushed cheeks are a conscious choice on Connor’s part, Hank knows. Or, if unconscious, some kind of subroutine that’s activated by whatever sensation Connor’s decided to define as good. So while it looks good—looks amazing on him—the important bit, the real bit, is the slight hitch in Connor’s words as he says, “I still can’t orgasm.”

 

“And who said you needed that?”

 

Connor tilts his head, or maybe he just rocks against Hank that way. Doesn’t matter.

 

Hank reaches around him and closes the door. Belatedly, he pulls back far enough to check the room for Sumo. They’re alone. Good. He swoops back in to peck Connor on the lips. “C’mon. Get undressed.”

 

“Even the tie?” Connor asks, downright sly.

 

“Yeah, fine, keep the tie,” Hank says like he’s the one doing Connor a favor. He tries to keep his nerves steady as he strips down, but it’s the fucking middle of the afternoon. The lights are on and Hank is absolutely sober. And then, moments later, he’s absolutely naked, standing there with his hairy everything, shoulders to toes. With his wrinkles and his age spots, his drooping ball sack, and a dick that’s still working its way up to fully erect. And that’s not even bringing his scars into it.

 

He turns his involuntary shielding motion into a slow pump, and Connor gets distracted. Connor reaches for him.

 

“Hey, nope,” Hank interrupts. “Underwear off.”

 

Connor freezes. His eyes lock with Hank’s, his LED whirls and flickers, and he stops breathing.

 

“More kissing?” Hank asks.

 

Connor nods stiffly.

 

Hank presses him back up against the wall only to find Connor’s gone tense again. He flicks his tongue at Connor’s lips, teasing as Connor attempts a more certain taste. Hank slides his hands down Connor’s back to grip his ass, to squeeze, to pull those cheeks apart. He slips a singer finger down beneath the back of Connor’s waistband, tracing a crack that never gives way to something else, and Connor pushes on his chest.

 

“There’s nothing there,” Connor says, not quite looking at him. With the peripheral vision Connor’s got going, it’s always hard to say. “You don’t have to touch me like that.”

 

“Hey.” Hank catches him by the chin with one hand, the other hand returned to Connor’s hip.

 

Connor looks at him, temple flickering between blue and yellow.

 

“Thought you said I could fuck you just like this,” Hank says. “Intercrural or whatever.”

 

“I don’t need to take my underwear off for that.”

 

“Think it would be sexier if you did.”

 

“You wouldn’t like it,” Connor says simply. “My current condition, it’s very inhuman.”

 

Hank snorts. “You learning to kiss, now that was inhuman. Got past that anyway.”

 

Connor looks away, down and off to the side.

 

Backpedaling, Hank runs his hands back up Connor’s sides, urging Connor to return to that around the shoulders embrace. “You want ‘em on, keep ‘em on,” he says, mentally smacking himself upside the head.

 

“Removing them would be counterproductive.” Taking the hint, Connor wraps his arms around Hank’s neck, hands clasped behind his nape.

 

“How the hell is getting naked counterproductive to sex?”

 

Connor shakes his head and drags Hank down for more kissing. He’s getting good enough at it that he manages to shut Hank up, all the stumbling way to the bed. Eventually, Connor breaks off to go for the lube, still in the store pack, still in the factory box.

 

“Connor,” Hank says, reaching out to touch him on his hip where he kneels. “Seriously. What’s with the undies? You made me take my shirt off.”

 

Connor puts on a little grin and says, “They match my tie.”

 

They don’t.

 

Sitting with one foot still on the carpet, Hank just raises his eyebrows.

 

“You won’t like it,” Connor says.

 

“You took them off when we showered,” Hank points out. He doesn’t remember much of it. Too early in the morning, too much spray and steam. Too much of Connor down on his knees and Hank’s eyes closed against the water.

 

Connor shrugs a little. He pops the cap on the lube bottle open and shut, open and shut. “It would’ve been inappropriate to keep them on in the shower. But now, it would be counterproductive-”

 

“You wanna keep them on? Yes or no.”

 

“You won’t like it,” Connor repeats, and Hank’s not enough of an idiot to miss what that means.

 

“Take your goddamn underwear off.”

 

With a stubborn set to his jaw, Connor drops the lube. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband, turns his head to the side, and pushes down his briefs to mid-thigh.

 

There’s nothing there.

 

He’s smooth. Hairless. Dickless. Everything-less.

 

Face still turned away, LED hidden, Connor looks at him, moving only his eyes.

 

“Can I touch?” Hank asks, sure to keep himself hard. Keeps working his dick with one hand, slow and steady, thumbing precome down his shaft.

 

“You’ve, you’ve touched me before,” Connor says, sounding confused. “Through my underwear.”

 

“So, what, I can’t use my mouth?”

 

Connor looks at him directly, spinning just as yellow as Hank expected. “You want to.”

 

“Yeah,” Hank says with a _that should be obvious_ shrug.

 

Clearly unsure, Connor wriggles and knee-walks out of his underwear. Instead of tossing them onto the pile of his clothes on the floor, he keeps the briefs close.

 

“Lie back,” Hank instructs.

 

Connor does, settling down with his elbows on the pillows. He looks worried as hell when Hank gives his knees a tap, but he spreads his legs for Hank to settle down between them. Hank lies down on top of him, bringing the kissing back into play, and Connor slowly starts to relax. Slowly, Hank lets his hips move against Connor’s. Before long, Connor’s wrapped one leg around him and is rocking to the rhythm.

 

“Okay?” Hank checks.

 

Connor hums against his neck. Intent on ear molestation, he struggles to push back Hank’s perpetually falling hair. That’s worth sticking around for, but ultimately, Hank’s got other plans.

 

He kisses his way down Connor’s throat. He makes noises of appreciation as Connor tugs at his hair, and he lavishes attention on Connor’s nipples, on his pecs, on the decorative dip of his navel.

 

“Hank,” Connor murmurs, pulling a little harder. “Come back.”

 

“’m right here.” Hank kisses him lower.

 

“No, come back.”

 

Hank pushes up onto his arms. “You don’t like it?”

 

Connor bites his lip, a new and stupidly endearing trait he’s picked up somewhere. “You won’t get off from this.”

 

Hank snorts. “I can wait. Lemme have some fun first? If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

 

“...Okay.”

 

Hank waits and watches. He strokes the outside of Connor’s thigh, making sure, and it’s only once Connor goes blue and nods that Hank actually does anything.

 

He shuffles further down the bed, bends down, and kisses the inside of Connor’s knee. He keeps an eye on Connor’s face, watching that little _oh_ of surprise. As he works higher, Connor tenses up, so Hank switches sides and goes back down.

 

On the next pass, he bites more, sucks more. Connor groans, simulating shallow breathing, and that’s all the encouragement Hank needs. After a particularly good moan, he lavishes attention on that spot until the skin against his tongue shifts in texture. He pulls off to look, and the spot is plastic white. As he watches, the color rushes back in, Connor’s skin repairing itself.

 

Tension rushes back in as well, Connor’s legs going still around him.

 

“Did I break you?” Hank asks.

 

Visibly nervous, Connor shakes his head.

 

“Don’t do it again, though?”

 

Connor doesn’t say anything, clearly frozen in indecision.

 

“Was that you getting a hickey?” Hank asks.

 

Connor nods.

 

“Right, so that’s not gonna stay. Good to know.”

 

Biting his lip again, Connor pushes himself up to a sitting position, legs still splayed around Hank. He puts his hand over his thigh, and there’s an odd sort of slooshing whisper of a noise. Connor pulls his hand away to reveal a normal looking hickey. A little more purple than red, but definitely a hickey.

 

“I can keep it,” Connor offers, like the only thing that matters here is Hank’s opinion. It’s a pretty big change.

 

Hank doesn’t like it.

 

He shrugs and says, “Think the first one looked better.”

 

Connor blinks at him.

 

Hank goes back down. He keeps up the foreplay shit, scratching his fingernails against the tiny, light hairs decorating Connor’s legs. He rubs his beard against Connor’s skin, knowing that’s a favorite. Only once Connor’s back to melting into the bed does Hank move back towards crotch territory. He’s taken his time going around the area, trying not to look at it directly lest he spook Connor even worse, but Connor might just be calm enough for a better look now.

 

It’s skin. Smooth, uninterrupted skin. No dick, no balls. No clit or lower lips. Just skin.

 

He traces the line between thigh and crotch, that joining place where Connor’s legs were probably inserted into his body in some CyberLife factory. He touches the line on the other side too, and then he traces it with his tongue. He goes down on nothing at all and, yeah, it’s weird. But that’s just Connor: weird all over.

 

Slowly, tentatively, Connor threads both hands through Hank’s hair. He pushes Hank’s mouth down harder. Hank sucks and kisses and licks. He’s careful not to use teeth until he realizes there’s no reason not to. He nearly gives it a try, but instinct holds him back. Better not let Connor think it’s fine to bite down there.

 

When Connor’s hold in his hair slackens, Hank looks up, brushing his own hair out of his eyes. Propped up against the headboard, Connor looks down at him, cheeks flushed an even deeper red than his chest.

 

“You like it?” Hank checks.

 

“You look so good like that,” Connor says, his voice stained gold with awe.

 

Feeling like an idiot, Hank stretches out his tongue and runs just the tip up Connor’s flat crotch.

 

Falling open, Connor’s mouth twists. “I’m-” He makes his swallowing motion, an unnecessary motion for a necessary bid for time. “Can I record this?”

 

That takes Hank aback. “Aren’t you always?”

 

“A lower quality version that counts as memory,” Connor says. He licks his lips, leaving them just as dry as before. “This would be an exportable video.”

 

Lying flat on his belly, Hank drops his head to rub his chin across Connor’s crotch. Immediately, Connor’s legs hook around him, squeezing tight. “And what, you’d watch it on my computer?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Connor gasps. “Yes, Hank, all the time. Hank, do that again.”

 

Face caught between two taut thighs, Hank nods and shakes his head, grinding his beard against Connor’s legs and crotch.

 

And Connor, _fuck_ , Connor grabs at the sheets.

 

It’s fucking weird and he’s rubbing his own spit into his beard, but screw it. Hank keeps it up until his neck is aching, until after it’s aching. He pries Connor’s legs away from his ears and slaps him on the flank. “Turn over. Ass up.”

 

Connor scrambles to comply. “Like this?” he asks, voice muffled in the pillow.

 

“Fucking perfect.” Kneeling over Connor’s feet, Hank thumbs that toned ass open. He licks a crack that tastes solely of lint. “You turned your sensitivity up?”

 

Connor’s resulting groan is answer enough.

 

Hank eats the world’s most inedible ass. He tries out a little bit of spanking, and it looks like Connor’s defined any contact from Hank as pleasure. Eventually, Hank has to stop, his jaw aching, his neck in pain, his dick the best kind of distraction. He kneels tall, cock in hand, and rubs the head of it up and down Connor’s crack. The wet trail of spit shines with the addition of precome.

 

“Hank…”

 

“You sure you don’t have a way to come from this?”

 

Eyes closed, Connor shakes his head against the pillow. “Feels good,” he says anyway. “Don’t stop.”

 

“Where’s the lube?”

 

Connor flops an arm in the correct direction.

 

Hank grabs it. He slicks up the insides of Connor’s thighs. “Too cold?”

 

“Mm, I think I like the contrast.”

 

“Good to know. Legs together.” He slaps Connor’s ass again, probably bruising his own hand, but Connor obeys like a shot. He presses his thighs so tight together, Hank can barely squeeze his cock between them. “Oh _, fuck_.”

 

Connor shifts. Hank’s hips rock forward at an unexpected touch: Connor’s hand urging his cockhead higher. Keeping Hank’s dick pressed up against Connor’s own crotch.

 

Hank’s head drops forward, his pained neck giving out as his lower body takes over. His right hand keeps trying to slip off Connor’s hip, but Hank’s got him firmly with the left. He pounds away, balls slapping against Connor’s fingertips, dick clutched by Connor’s thighs.

 

“I want...” Connor gasps.

 

“Gonna give it to you,” Hank swears. “Gonna, gonna come all over you. Fuck. Fuck, c’mon, like that. Move like, yeah.”

 

“I want it _for real_ ,” Connor confesses, and fuck if he doesn’t sound pained.

 

It takes a few seconds for Hank’s foggy brain to catch on. It takes his hips a few seconds after that, and his dick never fully gets the message. Hank pulls back and flips Connor over anyway. He clambers down on top of him, getting fully between Connor’s legs and dragging Connor over the sheets and into position.

 

His gut against Connor’s abs, his dick against Connor’s flat crotch, Hank props himself up on both forearms. He can’t stop moving, physically can’t stop himself from at least a slow grind against Connor, but judging by the legs wrapped around his waist, Connor’s okay with it.

 

“Hey,” Hank murmurs against Connor’s cheek. “As hard as I can, you want that?”

 

Connor shakes his head and nods and shakes his head again. The entire time, he keeps rocking up against Hank, flawlessly recreating Hank’s rhythm.

 

“Connor?”

 

Clutching at Hank’s back, Connor drags Hank down so they’re chest to chest, cheek to cheek. “Want you in me. Wanna be…”

 

“You’re real. You’re so fucking real, c’mere, c’mere.”

 

Connor pulls him closer, tighter, inhumanly strong. Hank slides against his skin, stays secure and contained within his hold. Hank’s feet, his knees slide over the mattress. He can’t even thrust anymore, can only grind, but Connor keeps undulating against him, keeps sucking kisses against all of Hank’s weak spots. Connor mutters a string of filth, all the more devastating for being sincere. How he wants Hank inside him. How he wants to be inside Hank. How he wants more, more, _more_.

 

Hank ruts against him, balls slapping against Connor’s ass. He’s got Connor by the shoulders, his arms under Connor’s back, the better to drag the guy where he needs him. It’s hot and tight and Hank’s sweating enough for both of them, making their bodies slick, making a fucking mess for Connor to lick up after.

 

The image flashes through Hank’s mind, and he swears, dick pulsing out an orgasm that has him collapsing.

 

Connor holds him even tighter, pinning Hank in place even as Hank’s own sensitivity starts to turn itself up. Hank moans, low and loud, his jizz getting all over them both. He jerks and twitches, his dick trapped against increasingly slick, hot skin.

 

“Fuck,” he groans against Connor’s neck, abruptly exhausted. In every way possible, he’s spent. Despite his aches—his neck, his jaw, his pathetic excuses for knees—he’s loose and pliant. He’s a human blanket on top of a stiff android. The more time passes, the more Connor’s grip on him starts to get painful.

 

Hank squirms with a grunt, and Connor loosens up. Connor still doesn’t completely relax.

 

Propping himself back up on his forearms, Hank looks down at his partner. “You okay?”

 

Connor nods, but his face says no.

 

Hank tries to climb off of him, but Connor tightens his legs around the backs of Hank’s thighs.

 

Ignoring the squelch of his come between them, Hank settles back down. “What? I miss you telling me to stop?”

 

“No, it’s not-” Connor looks away like that’s going to hide his LED. Guy only ever does it when he’s already at yellow, the dumbass. “I really wanted to go shopping this weekend.”

 

Hank blinks. “Okay.”

 

“You’ve been making the best of it, and I do appreciate that,” Connor continues, abruptly sounding like a formal email. “Once I get my upgrades installed, you won’t have to indulge me like this.”

 

Hank frowns down at him. Then he rolls off, flings an arm over his eyes, and swears, “Jesus Christ, kid.”

 

“I asked you to stop calling me that, _Lieutenant_.”

 

“Fine, yeah, whatever.” Hank lowers his arm. Pillow under his head, he twists onto his side. The seriousness of the moment is slightly undercut by Connor trying to clean Hank off with that pair of CyberLife briefs. He catches Connor’s wrist. “Hold on.”

 

Connor looks at him glumly, clearly awaiting a lecture.

 

“I don’t come all over people when I’m having a bad time, Connor,” Hank tells him. “You, like this? It works. We can do this.”

 

“I don’t want you experiencing a sense of sexual debt,” Connor argues. “I know it bothers you that I can’t orgasm.”

 

It hits close to home, but screw it, Hank has to be the adult here. It’s the only thing he can bring to the relationship. Without that, there’s no reason at all for Connor to look at him with even the slightest shred of admiration. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

 

Hesitating slightly, Connor nods.

 

“You tell me you’re good, and I’m gonna believe you.” He can try, at least. “So… You good?”

 

Connor thinks about it. Blue circles, darker pulses. Connor’s eyes roaming all across Hank’s face, his body. As if it’s an actual answer, he shrugs. Connor resumes cleaning Hank up, and then the little freak licks the lube and jizz from his dirty underwear.

 

Hank groans and flops onto his back. “So fucking disgusting.”

 

Connor just turns the underwear inside out and cleans off his own thighs.

 

“...Hey,” Hank says after a long moment of watching this. “How come you care if the orgasm thing bothers me, but you’re always grossing me out with the licking?”

 

Still looking down at his own thighs, Connor blinks.

 

He looks at Hank. “I… don’t know.”

 

“‘Cause it’s fucking gross,” Hank says.

 

Rolling his eyes, Connor leans down and licks sweat right off Hank’s hairy chest.

 

Hank flicks him on the ear, but then he has to drag the guy down. Connor tucks well against his side, but Hank can’t help but notice that Connor still keeps his bare crotch apart.

 

They lie there like that, Hank fighting not to doze off.

 

“The licking is additional,” Connor whispers, like maybe he thinks Hank will drift off if he can be quiet enough.

 

“’dditional to what?” Hank mumbles, rolling over onto his side.

 

Connor shifts accordingly, letting Hank sprawl across his chest. “Humans can’t do what I can.”

 

“S’what makes it fucking gross.”

 

Connor keeps on stroking Hank’s back. “I’m supposed to be additional, Hank. Better. Improved.”

 

Hank snorts. “Sooner you forget that, the better. Take it from yet another millennial burnout.”

 

“But I’m not supposed to be _less_.”

 

Hank lifts his head up. He forces his eyes open, and why the fuck are the lights still on. “Different isn’t less. Now shut the fuck up and give a guy some afterglow.”

 

Hank nestles back down. Connor pets his hair.

 

“I can give you everything a human can,” Connor murmurs. “I’ll be able to, soon.”

 

Hank pinches him.

 

“I will,” Connor promises.

 

“I fucked you as-is for a reason, dumbass,” Hank grumbles against him. “ _You_ want more, get an ass and dick. _You_ want just this, screw it. Now, seriously, shut the fuck up.”

 

Connor shuts the fuck up. His fingers investigate Hank’s spine. Hank’s shoulder blades. Hank’s neck and cheek.

 

A short nap later, Hank unsticks his face from Connor’s chest.

 

Connor looks down at him. “I want to engage in penetrative sex.”

 

“Cool.” With a grunt, Hank forces his tired old body to sit up. “Christ, I need a shower. Tell me the lube washes off easy.”

 

“It’s water-based, so yes.”

 

Hank scratches at his belly. “You coming?”

 

Connor lies there, a sexless vision of masculine beauty. His thighs gleam a little where spots of lube have dried. Sitting up, Connor nearly covers himself, but after the slightest pause, he lets Hank keep looking. “If you don’t mind the tight fit.”

 

“Yeah, c’mon. Just one thing first.”

 

“What?”

 

Climbing off the bed, Hank tugs on Connor’s nearest leg. Connor moves accordingly, shifting and scooting so his feet hang off the edge of the bed. Head tilted, Connor looks at him quizzically.

 

“Just wanna try something.” He kisses Connor on the lips, gets a nod, and moves down a familiar path. Neck, to nipple, to navel. He urges Connor’s thighs apart and sets his mouth against the tight skin between them.

 

Pulling in a long, slow breath, Hank looks up at Connor.

 

Connor looks back.

 

Hank blows the biggest raspberry of his life. Right where a dick would sprout, right where a clit would be, he blows hard and obnoxious. Connor bursts out laughing, his legs kicking out under Hank’s armpits.

 

Hank sucks in air and does it again. And again. He does it until Connor pushes him away, and Hank rocks down onto the carpet of his bedroom, buck naked and laughing his ass off.

 

“I’m showering without you!” Connor threatens.

 

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

 

“I am!”

 

Despite that insistence, Connor still reaches down to pull Hank up. He still leans in when Hank drags him into a hug.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Connor mutters.

 

“At least I have one,” Hank says, then immediately wants to take it back.

 

Connor just glares and slaps him on the ass on his way out the bedroom. Opens up the door and walks right on out, wearing nothing more than his tie.

 

“Hey!” Hank yells, following with his hands over his crotch. “Don’t flash my dog!”

 

“With what?” Connor calls back over his shoulder.

 

Very careful about hand placement, Hank flips him off.

 

They shower together anyway. After, Connor dries himself off with a towel between his legs, and Hank nearly slips and dies laughing.

 

Plastic asshole. Complete piece of shit.

 

He’s already perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> To see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


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